


some things are meant to be

by emptyswimmingpools



Series: can't help falling in love [2]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Awkwardness, Couch Cuddles, Established Relationship, Fluff, Internal Conflict, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 19:26:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7451182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emptyswimmingpools/pseuds/emptyswimmingpools
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Magnus speaks, it’s quiet—barely above a whisper—though understandable. “The feeling is mutual, by the way.” Alec stiffens underneath him, a sudden anomaly in the comfort, and though Magnus can’t see his face, he imagines Alec is blushing.</p><p>Alec remains tense for all but ten seconds, then eases up again. He says, with feigned nonchalance, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. What feeling?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	some things are meant to be

**Author's Note:**

> you could probably get away with reading this as a stand-alone, but i wrote with the intention of it being a follow-up to _[only fools rush in](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6885463)_.

When Magnus finally tells Alec, another day has passed, and the sun is setting: the sort of muted blue of the sky is dissolving into a soft lilac, where pinks and oranges of the likes blend subtly together. They melt away the harsh lines of dark silhouettes cast over the city and turn them into much softer, gentler shadows that blend with the returning darkness the night offers. The lights inside Magnus’s loft are dimmed but glowing, faded but ever-present as the two of them sit comfortably on Magnus’s dark couch, the TV blaring dramatic music with a flashing fight scene showing that neither Alec nor Magnus himself are properly paying any mind to.

The distance between them is sort of unnerving, Magnus thinks. There’s a good two and a half metres between them, and though it may seem like nothing to stress over, Magnus is chronically prone to overanalysing the fine details of his relationship with Alec, like he’s worried he’ll find a crack he wouldn’t notice otherwise that needs immediate attention. And so, like anyone else also burdening the weight of technically unsaid but still somehow said _I love you_ s upon their shoulders would, he stresses.

Silently.

He stares blankly ahead of himself into a square space of nothing but painted wall, desperately taming his expression into a perfected _calm and collected_ bravado—the one he’s partial to using in any other situation where he feels his own mind might betray him and just combust. Magnus remains silent, the elephant in the room growing and feeding on the discomfort that resides somewhere in his churning stomach. He remains hopeful that Alec will speak, put him out of his misery, kill the quiet and its endeavor to create so much awkwardness within an otherwise functioning relationship—but it’s a loose sort of hope, an adjustable feeling with a little wiggle room for disappointment.

He averts his gaze towards Alec for a moment, watching as he shifts in his seat and fiddles aimlessly with the sleeves of his jumper—black, of course. Despite the circumstances, Magnus can’t help but admire him: untamed hair that lies in a scruff on his head, the simultaneously sharp yet soft features of his face, his long and muscled limbs. He’s a masterpiece of contradictions, ever-loving though knacking on grudges, and _fuck_ —Magnus is so, so in love it hurts. The sudden reminder of that fact triggers the ending of the moment, and Magnus’s eyes trail reluctantly back to that same patch of wall once more.

 _Thud, thud, thud_ , went his heart, while his stomach did a sort of flip-flop.

Magnus isn’t actually entirely sure how the sudden wash of awkwardness came about. The likelihood of it being their reluctance to discuss the whole rune incident is high, and while Magnus understands this and knows it’s partly his fault, the bitter taste on his tongue isn’t strong enough to convince him to bring it up. Instead, he stresses a bit more. Silently. Again. It’s tedious—Magnus sort of feels like slapping himself—and entirely avoidable and _why is he doing this?_ If they don’t talk about it now, Magnus fears they never will, and that kind of pressure nudging his side is…overwhelming. So, he looks back over at Alec, psychs himself up a little, then takes a leap of faith.

The question, though entirely unrelated, flows out of his mouth of its own individual accord. “How’s your day been?” he asks, watching as Alec snaps his head and focuses on Magnus. His eyebrows furrow in confusion, then his features twist into a smile. It’s a small, toothless one—the kind Alec does almost never without meaning, and his eyes seem to light up a little more.

Alec says, “Hard. Mom’s been piling all this work on me—even more than before. Then there’s that bonus flood of insults for being a failure and, well, dating you.” Although he feels pity for what Alec is confessing, he can’t help but feel a small sense of pride wash over him in response to Alec not bottling it up for once. Usually, he dismisses it with a sour look and a transparent, “I’m fine” that gives Magnus an uncomfortable sinking feeling he can’t quite articulate properly.

“I’m sorry. You don’t deserve that,” Magnus replies carefully, honestly.

Alec shrugs, makes a vague gesture with his hands. “Not your fault she’s a bitch. Don’t worry about it—I _can_ handle her, y’know.”

He knows. He hasn’t heard an awful lot about her parenting skills as a whole, but he’s aware of her excessive _holier than thou_ attitude, and the way she speaks to her children like they’re a walking manifestation of the word ‘inconvenience’—with a cold tone to her voice, laced bitterly with a sense of anger and perhaps regret. Maryse Lightwood is a conditioned warrior-like woman with a strong sense of apathy and an even stronger sense of hatred. She hates like she breathes: like it’s a necessary part of the way she functions, like it’s fuel for her twisted dreams.

“How was yours?” Alec asks in turn, ignoring the unintentional condescending nature of Magnus’s last statement. He redirects the conversation casually and swiftly, the way one might speak in a rehearsed play. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Same old, same old. Finicky clients and such. Not much can be said, really.”

“Sucks,” is all Alec replies. (Somehow, it’s enough.)

Magnus fills the vocal silence with the sound of him shifting, closing the distance between him and Alec. Alec grins, then wraps an arm loosely around Magnus’s shoulder, pulling him in. Magnus rests his head against Alec’s frame, the two a tangled mess of limbs and love, slotting perfectly together like puzzle pieces. While he’s stiff and stoic on duty, Alec positively melts into Magnus’s touch, craving it like an addict. It feels…right. Vaguely unfamiliar (this isn’t a common occurrence), but right. Like this—their relationship—is meant to be, written in the stars by fate itself.

When Magnus speaks, it’s quiet—barely above a whisper—though understandable. “The feeling is mutual, by the way.” Alec stiffens underneath him, a sudden anomaly in the comfort, and though Magnus can’t see his face, he imagines Alec is blushing.

Alec remains tense for all but ten seconds, then eases up again. He says, with feigned nonchalance, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. What feeling?”

Magnus rolls his eyes, lets out a laugh that kind of sounds like a snort. “You know _perfectly well_ what I’m talking about, Alexander,” he says calmly, trying not to make it such a big deal, even though it is. Love is a big deal. Magnus had spent hundreds of years trying to avoid it. Alec was just a pleasant anomaly he couldn’t quite avoid, no matter how much he wanted to. His love for Alec is the irrefutable kind: it goes deep, overcomes his entire being. It started out as a small, calm flame, flourishing quickly into an uncontrollable force of heat and destruction, an inferno surging through his veins and mind.

Alec sighs, heavy and exaggerated. He must know that there’s no point in playing dumb, because next he says, “Fine, I guess I do. But do we…do we _have_ to talk about it? It’s”—he briefly cuts himself off to think of the right way to word it—“not my area of expertise. Relationships. This would be…the first. I don’t know.” He trips over his words like a child in a playground. Magnus stifles a fond laugh.

“Communication is key,” quips Magnus, who swears he can _feel_ an eye-roll from Alec. “So?” he prompts him.

“I meant it. The fucking love rune thing. I think I’ve known a while,” Alec confesses. Magnus smiles unabashedly. Then, much quieter this time (Magnus barely catches it), “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Magnus repeats, trying to force as much meaning as he can into the words as they leave his lips. The words are unfamiliar on his tongue, having remained unsaid for a long time, but it’s a good kind of unfamiliar that leaves him jittery with butterflies. He shifts a bit, snuggling into Alec more, and Alec laces their fingers together. Magnus hums contentedly, entirely engrossed within the moment. It sort of feels like they’re the only two people in the world right now, alone together in a paradise of their own. He cherishes the feeling, pure and distinct.

They stay like that for a while, quietly and mindlessly exchanging words every so often. It’s the best night Magnus has had in a long time, and if they even fall asleep together here—all stiff-boned and sleeping limbs when they wake up in the morning—well, then no one has to know.

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote the vast majority of this at, like, 4am, so apologies for any mistakes i've missed editing.
> 
> feedback is cool. leave a comment if you're feeling nice, maybe? x
> 
> [ [tumblr](http://albertorosedne.tumblr.com) ]


End file.
